


From Across the Street

by Anxious_Octopus



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen, Headcanon, POV Harold Finch, Post-Season 5, Short One Shot, sort of, the canon was dumb, totally ripped off of the ending of The Dark Knight Rises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Octopus/pseuds/Anxious_Octopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very short one-shot in which Harold is in Italy when he spots familiar faces at a café, two months after their final battle with Samaritan.</p>
<p>(Post-season 5 / season 5 ending in which Root is alive cause you know she would not go down that easy, pffft silly writers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Across the Street

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped in my head today and I just wanted to get it down. Obviously ripped from the ending of the Dark Knight Rises, which I almost feel like would be the perfect way to end this series but HEY I'm just a lowly fan and not a show runner.

Sitting on the patio of a Florentine café, Harold sipped his tea, a sad smile creasing his otherwise expressionless face. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself staring at security cameras, even in Italy. Six days he’d been in the city of Florence, and still he would often find his eyes wandering to the nearest laptop, cell phone, or camera, wondering…

Two months since their war had ended. A war the world still knew almost nothing about. News outlets had blamed the power outages on the Chinese. Harold knew better. Accustomed to living on the run, he’d left New York not long afterwards. Although there was significantly less to fear, with Samaritan destroyed and its agents either dead or disbanded, Harold was still as cautious as ever, if only slightly less paranoid. Not to mention the city he once called home held no joy for him. Ms. Groves- Root, as he’d come to know her- gone. John, his partner and friend- gone. Detective Fusco was doing well, he knew, but still Harold couldn’t bring himself to remain. Ms. Shaw operated best alone, and attempting to contact her would be fruitless.

As he drained the rest of his cup, Harold tried not to let his mind linger on the last member of their team: his creation. He felt that he now understood Root’s insistence, so long ago, that they continue searching for Ms. Shaw upon her disappearance at the hands of Samaritan. Hope was a dangerous thing, and he’d frowned upon Root’s unwavering belief that Sameen was alive. But now, he felt a sliver of that same hope, the same loyalty, to his creation. The Machine’s fate had been an ambiguous one at best and Harold knew, realistically, that she was more than likely gone. Reduced to 1s and 0s and white noise in a vast system. But the hope lingered, and it gnawed at him, and so he would continuously find himself searching for a sign. His eyes would plead with the black lenses and red lights of security cameras, begging for a response. Any answer at all. Still nothing.

Placing his cup down on the table, Harold reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed his wallet. The sun was shining in Florence, and the city around him was alive with people. Taking his wallet out of his pocket, he reached for money absent-mindedly, his eyes wandering over the other café customers populating the patio. His eyes caught sight of a familiar woman, with brown hair pulled into a ponytail and her elegant features set in an unamused frown. She sat across from a woman whose back was to Harold, and at whose feet rested a large dog. It was curled up and, being seated rather far away, Harold couldn’t quite discern its breed. The woman he’d found so familiar rolled her eyes at her companion, and he knew her immediately.

Sameen Shaw sat at a table across the patio, wearing a classic black t-shirt, sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed. After rolling her eyes she’d begun to look around her, trained eyes mapping her surroundings. Harold froze, his hand still hovering over his wallet, as she made eye contact with him across the patio. Her expression didn’t change but for the almost imperceptible lift of one of her eyebrows.

The motion garnered the attention of Shaw’s companion, who up until then, Harold hadn’t paid attention to. The woman turned in her seat, and Harold took in a sharp breath.

Root faced him across the patio, turned in her seat and gazing at him, her eyes alight with emotion. In that instant, he longed to ask her a million questions. How was she alive? Where had they gone? Could it be Bear that was curled up under Root’s chair? And The Machine- was The Machine still out there?

Root smiled knowingly at him before a waiter blocked his line of sight.

“Are you wanting to pay now, sir?” The man asked.

“Oh? Yes, yes,” Harold replied urgently, fishing out his money and handing it to the server.

“Thank you, sir,” the waiter replied before walking away.

Harold stood shakily, staring at the table across the patio. It was empty. Had he imagined the entire encounter?

He walked over to the table, doubt creeping in at his mind. Was he losing his handle on reality?

As he reached the table, he knew he hadn’t imagined it at all. On the table top rested a single slip of paper, torn from a pocket notebook.

           

_Would have loved to stay and chat, Harry, but places to go and a train to hijack. Please take care of yourself. She’ll never forgive you if you don’t._

_-Root_

 

Harold read the note over again before folding it and gently placing it in his wallet. He looked up and spotted two women on the street across from him. Sameen knelt down and gave the dog- it was Bear, Harold knew now, without a doubt- an eager scratch on the head. Bear pressed his muzzle to Shaw’s face, and Harold knew the dog would never be without a good home. He turned his gaze on Root, who stood looking in his direction. They made eye contact, she smiled again, and lifted her right hand to her ear.

_She’ll never forgive you if you don’t._

Root tapped her ear twice, smirking.

_She’ll never_ as in _she will never._ Not _she would never._ She will.

A bus stopped in front of the women, and Harold was certain they must’ve boarded it, for they were gone again when it drove away.

_She will_.

He turned to face a security camera mounted on a street lamp nearby. The red light in the corner of its black lens was on and glowing steadily. Harold couldn’t help the smile the crept across his face when, a few moments later, the red light blinked twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope y'all enjoyed it.  
> You can find me on tumblr at http://drank-in-lurve.tumblr.com, come say hi and cry about Shoot with me. 
> 
> Thinking of making a Shoot series, in the same universe as this little one shot. I mean, they're off to hijack a train right? There's probably a story there.


End file.
